


Who Listens For The Wingbeats

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 08-10, F/M, Slash, Threesome, for:ignazwisdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-13
Updated: 2008-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And they'll come back to this point. They'll always come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Listens For The Wingbeats

**Author's Note:**

> For Ignaz Wisdom: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Thank you to daemonluna, troutkitty, roga, and shutterbug_12 for their beta comments.

Foreman looks worn out, sitting alone in the restaurant with one hand wrapped around a glass. Chase remembers seeing that expression on his own face, when he dipped his hands under the taps and tried to wash the exhaustion away. He tried to do his job and keep up with duties that should have belonged to nurses, orderlies, and lab technicians--all for House. Maybe he should be surprised at how quickly he got used to the normal run of the hospital. It was easy to leave House's idiosyncrasies behind. Chase is a surgeon. He's learned to live for surgeries and only surgeries, competing for OR time, practicing stitch after stitch. He has begun to remember that not every kind word is a lie. Not every call from his supervisor will be designed to cut him down and force him out of anything resembling a comfort zone.

House saw robbing them of their comfort zones as the most rewarding part of his job. Chase had believed his complacency would be like a lost limb. He might still feel a twinge of ghosted laziness from time to time, but it would never be there to trust his weight to.

Now he knows it grows back. He finds himself thinking in circles, in solutions, in surgeries; less and less in bright, amazing flashes that should be crazy but aren't. Maybe that's why he consults for Diagnostics when a call comes; why, insults aside, he keeps coming back after walking away. There are paths in his brain that he thinks House recognized before hiring him. Chase explored them and broadened them for three years. Now he wonders if they, too, will grow together, grow closed. Atrophy without use.

Except self-assurance grows back, too. Chase once wondered if all his wondering will fail. He wondered if, without House, he would fall. After falling for nearly a year, Chase can believe that he's flying instead.

He and Cameron were holding hands when they walked into the bar. They let go as they cross the room. Chase claps his hand on Foreman's shoulder, and grips hard for an instant. Foreman is reassuringly solid, and Chase has to remind himself to let go. He wants to hold on. He'd like to be convinced that Foreman misses him. Misses both of them. They haven't met like this in longer than Chase likes to think, but Foreman shifts to the center of the booth, and Cameron sits on his other side, just like they've always done. Chase looks at them both and wishes he knew where the people they used to be have gone.

Foreman picks up his glass, swirling the last swallow of his drink. "I never thought I'd be here again," he says quietly, shaking his head.

Chase meets Cameron's eyes quickly. "Why?" he asks.

Foreman's laugh has always been more about putting other people down than about genuine amusement. His snort might be directed at Chase, for asking a stupid question, or at himself, for thinking it could have been so easy to escape House's gravity. "I was sure I was out of here," he said. "I got the job at Mercy, and I was gone."

Cameron's lips tighten--no matter what she says, she will never forgive Foreman for profiting from her article--but Foreman doesn't notice. He stares into his glass and shakes his head. "I shouldn't still be here," he mutters.

"It's not a _failure_," Cameron says sharply.

Foreman's shoulders lift when he snorts again. "Maybe not to you," he says, and Chase lets himself grin in agreement. For Cameron, quitting wasn't about questioning who she'd become. It was self-righteous, not Foreman's crisis of faith. She could have moved. House was willing to play little-boy-with-matches for Foreman's bridges, but once the pattern was set--when House decided it was time to rid himself of them--he wouldn't have interfered. But instead, Cameron stayed, and took the job that Cuddy offered. Chase stayed too: maybe because he was too comfortable with being uncomfortable. Maybe because Cameron smiled at him, half like she was in love with him and didn't know it, and half like he was a slow child that she needed to help through the complicated process of a relationship. _Too soon_, he remembers, and _too complicated_. They've waited for a year, all three of them in stasis, like butterflies that lighted in tree sap and didn't know they were trapped until they tried to take off.

Cameron takes the glass out of Foreman's hand. She eyes the contents, mostly melted ice and very little of the original bourbon. "How many have you had?"

"One," Foreman says, with a dark look. "I'm not House, you know."

Cameron sits back and lifts her eyes, signaling a waiter with a tilt of her head. She's not dismissing Foreman, quite, but she's never been the one to assign him any of House's good qualities. It would take something from her hero worship, her crush, if she admits that House is just as much of a jackass. Foreman's far from the most pleasant person to work with. House's behaviour is excused by his leg, his pain, whatever it is that Cameron sees in him that she believes runs deeper than his sarcasm. She's always been determined to understand House, sometimes with a cold and calculating ambition, other times with a soft, badly-hidden yearning. Admitting that Foreman might be as good would be admitting that House was right, that day he suggested it was only a matter of time before Cameron set her sights on Foreman. And House's comment may have been what set her wondering. Chase knows she has her fantasies, as he has his: both of them laughing it off as the fact that they've worked too closely with each other and with Foreman. Between them, they've each whispered their share of quiet what-ifs into the darkness.

Chase has been watching her, and he wonders: does she love (except not love) him for the answers he was beginning to come up with on his own? Should he walk with a limp--walk away--instead of telling her he likes her with clockwork regularity?

It's a problem that he turns over in his mind, but he's not ready to treat her like a differential, to try radical treatments. He's been in relationships like that before, and he's worried more than anything that with her, they might work.

"Why are you still worried about Mercy?" Chase asks, once the waiter has taken their orders and left. His first attempt at the question has already slipped away. He wouldn't be surprised if Foreman didn't want to answer. "I thought you were happy."

Foreman shrugs a bit. "Yeah," he says. "It's been a real joyride."

He doesn't meet their eyes. It leaves room for Cameron to try and signal Chase over his head. They may not find a better time than this to tell Foreman what they've been thinking, what's been hanging between them in half-formed phrases and trailing touches. Chase wonders what Cameron really wants. For himself, he'd like to spend an hour, a day, not thinking, and maybe Foreman wants the same. Earlier tonight Chase was drilling into House's skull. He was the one who authorized the shocks. He could have stopped, instead of listening to House. Amber still would have died, but maybe House wouldn't have known the answer; maybe it's something that should have stayed a mystery.

One thing that hasn't faded from working with House is that there's only one question that matters. _Did I do the right thing?_

When the waiter returns, Chase takes his beer, but he's lost his taste for drinking. He didn't know Amber. He'd left the department before she joined, before she'd singled herself out from the gaggle of fellows following at House's heels. But she was his age, young, and he admired her determination to figure House out. He thought that she might turn out to be one of the few that could--after all, he's been there. He remembers laughing with Cameron when she found out that Amber was dating Wilson. He remembers thinking there was no surer way to get House's attention. There was even an instant when he thought about asking Cameron point-blank if she'd ever considered going after Wilson herself, although he knows she was never that coldblooded. It wouldn't have been love, to go through an intermediary...Chase himself aside.

There's an appeal to intermediaries, though. A certain safety. And if Foreman's arrogance isn't enough, then there's the way he looks at Chase sometimes, when Chase laughs at him for staying with House or tries to give advice--and Chase thinks, _he knows we're going to ask_. Foreman, amused and skeptical and unusually perceptive; it's a thought Chase has found hard to shake. His face feels hot, and Chase knows it shows against his skin. He slumps further into the booth, his knee nudging Foreman's, his foot finding Cameron's ankle under the table.

Cameron looks up quickly, and just as quickly goes back to flirting with the stem of her wine glass. The red she picked was fuller than her usual rose, and the barlights glint ruby through the wine. She looks tired, too, her hair falling around her face and her roots showing. She smiles gently, not at either of them, and it's far more beautiful than any time she's tried to convince him that what she feels is real. When she looks up at Foreman, Chase knows he was right: they're going to ask. "We should do something," she says.

Foreman takes a swallow of his second bourbon. House's drink. Chase wonders where Foreman picked up the habit. "Like a memorial?" he asks with a grimace. Chase imagines the heat of the drink, the burn in Foreman's throat. His beer is cold, and he suddenly wishes he'd chosen something stronger. "We didn't know her, Cameron. We should leave it to her family, or Wilson."

Cameron manages to bite back the obvious--Foreman certainly isn't reacting as if Amber was no more than a bystander in his life. "I meant for us," she says.

"Are we celebrating?" Foreman raises an eyebrow, a world of disdain in the gesture.

Chase swallows a laugh, but lets himself smile. A year ago, that would have been enough to send Cameron into a righteous fury. Instead, she lets out a sigh, almost scoffing. Chase watches her: the same way he always feels he's watching his life with her from afar. She defends herself to mirrors, but never to him. He should have left. He's moved from Melbourne to Princeton, but he still feels like he's missing so much of the world. He wants to break free of House's orbit. Here, right now, he feels like he's being pulled back in.

"No," he says, and he's surprised at the amusement that shows in his voice. "Cameron wants us to have a reunion."

He expects Foreman won't get it right away. He'll laugh and assume that Cameron wants them to hold a tea party and tell stories about House, and Cameron will have to come out and say it directly. But instead, Foreman looks up sharply, first at Cameron, and then his gaze swings to Chase. His eyes are intent, assessing, and his stare feels almost hot. Chase picks up his beer and swallows some, meeting Foreman's look evenly.

"And I suppose you're doing this for her?"

Chase can't help looking at Cameron. It's not for reassurance, or permission, even if that's what Foreman thinks. He wants to see the offended frown when she realizes that Foreman's already moved past whether she might want to sleep with him--in Foreman's mind, that's a given--and has moved on to consider Chase's motivations. She doesn't disappoint him, but she's quick enough to clip her mouth shut rather than interrupt. "Nope," Chase says, and gives in to the desire to grin. He will never say, _Eric Foreman, you are that hot_, but he will raise his eyebrows and take another drink of his beer. He has his own reason to be confident; Foreman has already brushed right past the stage where he might have shot them down without a thought.

Foreman tosses back the last of his drink and then sighs down into the empty glass. "This is stupid."

Chase doesn't contradict him. He can already imagine the regrets he'll have. Strange how that doesn't seem to slow his heartbeat, or make his palms sweat less.

Cameron smiles--she knows, now, what winning looks like. "You aren't saying no."

"No," Foreman says, and then he chuckles, broad and amused. "I'm not." His eyes stray to Chase's face again, but it's Cameron who gasps. Foreman's hand has disappeared beneath the table, and he's smugly checking Chase's reaction. Cameron blushes, but she watches him, too, with that smile he remembers from when she was using--both the drugs and him. That smile...she's gotten what she wanted, and she looks both prim and smug about it.

"I don't believe you'd had just one drink before we got here," Chase says to Foreman, but his gaze doesn't leave Cameron's face. A flush spreads across her cheekbones, and her eyes meeting his are bright.

"Everybody lies," Foreman says, and for once Chase doesn't hear any bitterness in his voice as he parrots House. Foreman believes it.

Cameron leans in, as if she's about to start telling secrets, and asks, "Can we continue this somewhere else?"

Foreman tilts his head, as if he's considering, but a moment later he's taken his wallet out and throws down enough cash to cover all their drinks, and probably three of his own. As he slides out of the booth, towards Chase, this time he's the one to grip Chase's shoulder, his hand strong and warm from the alcohol through Chase's jacket.

"My place," Cameron says, when they're out on the night-cool sidewalk, and neither Chase nor Foreman argues. They take separate cars, Chase driving as Cameron smiles out the window, Foreman following. Chase has been living at Cameron's more than not, and he unlocks her door as easily as he would his own. Cameron passes him, heading inside to turn on the lights. Chase waits on the stoop for Foreman, who shows up only a minute behind them. He's given up another chance to call them crazy and disappear. Foreman climbs the steps, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He raises his eyebrows when he reaches Chase, and follows him inside too closely to call it anything but eager.

Cameron has disappeared for the moment; Chase hears her back in the bedroom. He looks around at her apartment--it's still very much hers--and he can't help grinning at Foreman. "Beer?" he asks, even knowing there probably isn't any in the fridge.

"I don't think so." Foreman takes off his jacket, tosses it over a chair, and then he turns to Chase. He looks purposeful, intent. Chase has long enough to wonder why he agreed, what he wants, and then Chase lets out a sound when Foreman first touches him. The kiss is astonishing for the way it should be awkward, but isn't. Foreman kisses him, one hand warm against Chase's throat as if Chase is that kid they treated once, as if cutting off his air will make him come. Foreman's thumb strokes down Chase's carotid artery, their heartbeats mingling, and Foreman's lips are slow and certain enough to be sincere: he's inviting Chase to push forward, to kiss him back.

Chase first knows Cameron's back when he feels her fingers whispering against his chest. She's unbuttoning his shirt, her hands brushing occasionally against Foreman's stomach. Chase feels her drop a kiss against his shoulder once it's bared, and then Foreman extends an arm to her and brings her closer, bends so that he can kiss her too. Chase presses his mouth to her throat, tasting her skin, and undoes clasps and buttons, baring more skin to follow with his tongue. He likes the look of Foreman's hand against Cameron's stomach. He unhooks her bra, lets it fall away, while Foreman's fingers work slow and sure against her zipper and brush her pants off her hips. Cameron laughs breathlessly between them, naked, and then leads the way to the bedroom. She pushes Chase down on the mattress and then pulls Foreman after her.

Everything seems to be happening slowly. They're trapped in a golden light that's solidified around them, with everything inside sharply outlined. Chase feels every moment that he kisses and is kissed. He's hard, and when Foreman's hand drops to his dick, his grip is stronger and surer than Cameron's. Chase groans and pushes forward. Cameron is watching them, he knows, touching herself as Foreman rubs off against his hip. Their mouths slip together, their breaths combine. In the middle of all this sensation, Chase can't help but try and untangle their strange choreography, how they work together as if they've never left each other, how they know what's needed and where to tease.

Foreman catches Cameron's hand in his and presses her wrist to the bed as he rolls on top of her. Cameron's eyes are dark and wide, and she breathes in short, quick bursts. Foreman's hand goes to his cock, stroking quickly before he guides himself into her. They both freeze for an instant, Foreman's eyes closing and Cameron letting out a sound between a whimper and a moan. Chase leans in and kisses her, and she answers him immediately, one hand tangling in his hair. He palms her breast, then pinches her nipple, the way he knows she likes when he's inside her, fucking her. Foreman grunts quietly, and Chase looks up to see Cameron wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Chase wants to touch them both, as if he'd fit between them. He knows, now, what Cameron wants, and it's not him. He should resent her more, he should hate watching her with Foreman. They're looking at each other as Foreman rolls his hips forward. But Chase wants to memorize the expression on Cameron's face, the way the muscles of Foreman's back ripple and bunch. His dick is heavy and blood-warm and familiar in his hand. He thrusts into his own fist as he watches them. They're together in a way Chase couldn't have predicted; he knows this, from the way he catches the watch-tick of Cameron's pulse in the hollow of her throat, the way Foreman's hand is gentle, brushing her hair back from her face. They move slowly, then faster. Gasping together.

Chase already knows how Cameron's face opens when she comes. Foreman, though, is new to him, and Chase touches him, feels the sweat along his shoulders. His face twists in ecstasy and he pants hard, prolonging both their pleasure as long as he can, and when he's done, he grabs the back of Chase's neck and kisses him again. Chase wasn't expecting it, but he kisses back. It's a fight as much as a kiss, hard enough that it's revenge for what Foreman's taken from him without even knowing he's done it. But Foreman seems to understand, because he slows the kiss and makes it last. Their chests press together and Foreman uses his weight to push Chase down, until he's paying more attention to the kiss than to Cameron.

When Foreman backs off, though, she's there; Chase thinks, however briefly, that he'll never quite escape her.

"Hey," she says softly. It's part of their call and response. _I like you_, he'll answer. _Yeah_, she'll say, with a smile, _I think I like you too_. In front of Foreman, though, it's changed, and Chase doesn't want to make whatever they have into a litany. This once, he won't give her what she wants; he's not going to forgive her for the way she was with Foreman. "Hey," he answers instead, and kisses her until she moans, and moves her hips against him; she is still bright and high with desire.

"Come on," Foreman says in a husky voice. "This I want to see."

Chase laughs, because they are never going to cure Foreman of thinking he knows everything about them, down to the motions of their lovemaking. Cameron lifts herself on one elbow, smiling down at him, nearly laughing at Foreman for wanting a show. Chase pulls her on top, wanting her badly now. Cameron sinks down, and he slides inside her. She's wet and swollen and she clenches against him almost immediately. Chase holds her hands against his chest and tips his head back, swallowing.

He can feel Foreman beside him, his cock still half-hard and damp. Chase opens his eyes when Foreman slides a hand down his chest, moving to the base of his dick. God, the feeling is intense. Foreman alternates between squeezing him and rubbing Cameron's clit when she moves her hips against him. "Oh," she says, her eyes closing, her thighs pressing him tighter. Chase pants hard, waiting, thrusting as best he can. When Foreman scrapes his chin down Chase's neck and then bites, quick and sharp, against his collarbone, that's when his orgasm rushes through him like a sudden tide. He can feel Cameron coming as well, from the way she moves frantically against him, from the sound of her breath in his ears. Sometimes, he thinks it's a lie; tonight, he believes her.

Afterward, Cameron sinks down on top of both of them, a slim weight holding them down. Chase closes his eyes, tries to feel where he's pressed against Cameron and where it's Foreman instead. He finds himself thinking that in medicine, it's the recovery that takes longest. Whether he's a surgeon or a diagnostician, though, recovery is pushed aside, forgotten. They find the illness, they cut it out. What happens after is left for someone else to deal with.

Foreman moves first. He sighs, and rolls away from Chase, leaving Cameron to settle against him.

"You don't have to leave," Cameron says, but she doesn't move to hold him back.

Foreman shakes his head. "I know," he says. "It doesn't work, anyway."

Chase blinks up at him, catching Foreman's bitter smile. But there's nothing he can say to that, and Foreman's as self-possessed as ever, picking up his clothes and dressing quickly, so that he's left the room--the apartment--faster than either of them might have put up any resistance.

Chase rolls closer to Cameron, kisses her earlobe and frowns as he doesn't tell her he loves her. His hand is on her belly, her fingers meshed with his, their legs entangled, but he knows she's staring across the room. He knows, because he is too. Does it mean something, that she's in his arms? Does he still care?

Where are the rest of them tonight? Does it bother Foreman that he's going home to an empty apartment? Does he care that House is in the ICU? Does he remember the look of devastated disbelief on Wilson's face when House told him there was nothing they could do? Chase knows what he would say: nothing they did tonight will change that; they did everything they could, and if it wasn't enough, then sometimes that's what happens. Sometimes, nights like this happen.

Chase closes his eyes. He was once in the center, and everyone else was leaving. Now he feels like he's the one travelling. Foreman will stay with House. Cameron will let him drift away, let whatever connection he looked for with her fade.

Foreman was right. They should all have left. They should have moved on. Chase has been flying for a year and he knows he'll leave again. He wants to see the world; and whether Foreman knows it or not, he's the one who's standing still and waiting. He's the one who's found a home. This time, Chase is ready to leave Cameron behind while he finds his own route. No matter where the three of them go, though, following the magnetic lines that guide their migrations, Chase knows they'll always come back to this point.

They'll keep coming back.


End file.
